


The Crayon Boy

by ThatDarnLakeSiren



Category: My own Imagination
Genre: Fluffyness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDarnLakeSiren/pseuds/ThatDarnLakeSiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything was colorless, yet everyone spoke of color. He couldn't see it. He could never see what others saw, even when they looked upon the same thing at the same time. He wasn't sure why, or how, just that it WAS that way.</p><p>. . . .until one day, he recieved a box of crayons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crayon Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my'Momma'Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my%27Momma%27Cat).



Black, white, gray. Three colors, with the last making up a multitude of shades. In a world devoid of anything else, he looked into patterns instead to figure out what people meant when they talked about the colors in his colorless world.

He never could see it. He wasn't sure he wanted too. He was used to what he was used too, and trying to decipher the secret code everybody else used when he himself could not properly see it all felt like a waste of time. Why bother? He could still work his way through life, using the patterns within the patterns.

So when he recieved a box of crayons one day, as a birthday present, he set it on his desk and ignored them. A week went past, before he finally decided to open it. He looked inside, and froze. Reds and blues, yellows, greens, purples, oranges and more.

A whole rainbow of colors, sitting within a gray-shaded box in a gray-shaded room of a gray-shaded world.

Slowly, he reached out, and picked one of the crayons up. He read the label on the side - maroon, a shade of red - pulled out a piece of paper, and began to draw.

Taking inspiration from books he'd read and pictures he'd seen, he sketched out a creature that was half dragon and half dolphin, a plume of freezing-cold water blasting from it's mouth at some unseen foe. A desperate frenzy took over the boy now; the drag'phin didn't look right, hanging in empty white space.

He worked through color after color, creating a land of obsidian-black mountains that stretched high into the sky, with silver waterfalls at every turn that fell into calm, large mountain lakes ringed by pastel yellow plants.

His drag'phin was colored a dark blue with lighter blue and dark purple highlights. The sun shone a soft azure in a murky orange sky. The only other creatures were crosses of deer and mountain lions, running about the smooth slopes with practiced ease. The tan-tinted ones fed on the brown-tinted ones, and the brown-tinted ones fed on the tan-tinted ones.

His drag'phin was aiming his burst of icy-cold water-spout breath at a tan Delior (as he named the lion-deer hybrid), for he ruled these slopes and ate all. The boy filled every possible crevice of the white paper, replacing blankness with color, pouring himself into his work.

At last, he stopped, gazing down at his work. He smiled, but as he moved to put the crayons away, he noticed something odd. The crayons looked as though they had never been used. He shrugged it off and finished up. Finding some thumbtacks, he tacked his drawing up over his bed, before curling up beneath the covers.

The next morning, when he next looked at his drawing, he noticed something quite strange. The drag'phin was gone from his drawing. Rather than a white patch or a hole in the paper, the background continued as if he'd never drawn it at all. The waterspout was still there, as well as the Delior sprawled beneath it. He had no time to dwell on this; promising himself to solve the mystery later, he hurried on to get ready for school.

**_[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_**

Closing the door behind him, he turned and stopped dead in his tracks. Before, curled up in his front yard, lay the missing Drag'phin. It raised it's head and blinked lazily at him with dark purple eyes. It was at least as big as his school bus. It turned itself around, shifting to a crouch as it turned it's side to the boy. It gestured roughly at it's back with one large forepaw, grumbling quietly.

Hesitantly, he scrambled up onto the large back, holding on tight to the scaled fin. It stood, spread large wings, and leapt into the sky! Fast - so fast, the wind stealing the breath from his lungs, rocketing into the sky, to quickly for an animal to bear -

\- but he could bear it, if just barely. He clung as tight as he could, refusing to look. A sound like paper tearing, and suddenly he was soaked in something that felt kinda like water, but more . . . oily, and heavy. They burst out of the substance with a huge splash, and he could breathe again.

They were moving slower. He looked up, and had to do a double take. Black obsidian mountains that pierced the skies. Tan and brown half deer-half lion creatures stalked one another around pools of silver fed by enormous waterfalls, hiding in or lounging around bright yellow plants. Everything awash in strange blue light, provided by a sun that hung in a murky orange sky.

He looked at himself, and found he could _see_ the colors of his own body. It was his drawing . . . or, the world of his drawing. How had this happened? Did he create this world?

"So now, you see." the deep, rumbling voice was coming from the Drag'phin. "This world, these creatures - yes, that includes me - were all created by your own hand."

 "But, how? Aren't they just crayons?" he asks, still in awe of the land before him. 

"To others, yes," the Drag'phin concedes. "But you saw the potential of the colors; you poured your heart and soul into the drawing. And through your thoughts and through the crayons, you created this world."

"Is - is that why you were gone from the drawing this morning? Since you left it, to bring me here?" he asks, feeling a flash of fear; if the drawing was destroyed, would it destroy the world?

"The paper itself is but a window; you look at it and see into the world. But it does not contain the world itself. You keep this land alive with your own thoughts, and feelings. You created it, and only you can destroy or alter it. You are master of this realm; and any other realms you choose to create. But the paper is only paper; to destroy it would merely be boarding up the window, for awhile."

"Oh . . ." 

"It is a lot to take in, but we have time." the Drag'phin assured him, turning and landing by one of the silvery pools. "Call upon me, and I will come to you."

"Even if I'm back home?" he asked.

A deep chuckle. "Yes, even then." he smiled at the boy, revealing dozens of sharp teeth.

But it was warm and friendly, and he found himself returning it.

**_[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_.n.n.n.n._[(-)]_**

 He stood silently, listening on as his parents asked where he had been, threatened to ground him, if something had hurt him -

He had not answers for them. None that they would believe. After spending a day and night in the world of his drawing, he had asked the Drag'phin to take him home. Only to discover that time had passed at the same rate at home, and that his parents had been worried sick for him. 

In the end, he said nothing, and they were thankful that he had returned home. For a week, they kept a careful eye on him, but he did not do anything out of the ordinary, and was perfectly behaved, going about his business as usual.

Except, every evening, he'd retreat to his bedroom and draw.


End file.
